


so tie a ribbon round my arm and throw me in

by Probably_Not_Captain_America



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Tales of the Jedi
Genre: (be honest Ulic that's what it is), Backstory, Established Relationship, Exposition, Fluff and Angst, Friendly banter, Hair Kink, Headcanon, Kinda?, M/M, Slow Romance, commiserating about dead parents, this is mostly an excuse to pester everyone with my hc bg for Exar honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28794924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Probably_Not_Captain_America/pseuds/Probably_Not_Captain_America
Summary: Ulic propped himself up on one elbow, settling back against the pillows. The rustle seemed to startle Exar, or maybe he only now deigned to take notice of his Apprentice – he paused, hand frozen in his hair. After a moment he resumed, half turning his head towards Ulic.“Look who’s awake. Slept well, I presume, Qel-Droma?”The sarcasm in Exar’s voice was dripping, but somehow, the words lacked their usual bite, as if he could barely summon the energy to be spiteful. He sounded – tired.---Ulic Qel-Droma has always had a bit of a fascination with Exar Kun’s unusual hairstyle. One sunny morning on Yavin IV, he decides he’s curious enough to ask about it – and learns a few unexpected things about the Dark Lord. It would seem they’re really not so different, after all.
Relationships: Exar Kun/Ulic Qel-Droma
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5





	so tie a ribbon round my arm and throw me in

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo. The obscure Sith porn saga continues (just without the porn this time). The backstory Exar tells here is entirely my own headcanon (he doesn't even have one in canon), but the dates and locations are completely canon-compatible. Atrisia was actually taken over by Uueg Tching during the stated time, I just added Exar into the mix. Any part about Atrisian culture, including the language, is also entirely my own stupid idea (except for Jar'Kai, of course, but I think if you're interested enough in deep lore to stumble upon this fic you probably know that). Ulic's mother is mentioned in canon, but since his father isn't, I thought I'd make up something for him as well while I'm at it!  
> Also! I'm aware that the time between Aleema's death (mentioned here) and the end of the Sith War, ie Exar's "death" and Ulic being cut off from the Force, was likely less than 48h. I'm throwing things around here a bit, I just felt like it honestly. No deep reason. Reading my previous fic about these two is recommended, but not necessary. Enjoy!  
> Title stolen from the song The Waves by Bastille. I suggest giving it a listen!

Ulic Qel-Droma woke up disoriented, sore and hurting all over.

He groaned quietly and threw an arm over his eyes to block out the sun. Sun and no rumble meant he wasn’t on a spaceship, and the soft sheet seemed like it wasn’t his –

_Oh. Right._

He was in a temple on Yavin 4 – Exar Kun’s temple, to be exact. More precisely, he was in Exar Kun’s bed, exactly where he’d fallen asleep last night.

Well, more like passed out, if he was being honest. The night had been short and rather…eventful, and as he rolled over, he could feel at least four new bruises he’d acquired in various ways throughout.

He had no idea why he was still here, though; he couldn’t recall any other time that Exar had just let him stay the night. Ulic reached over to the vague direction of where Exar would probably sleep – maybe he’d suffered a heart attack in the night, you never knew – but found the bed empty.

Hm. Strange.

Reluctantly, Ulic opened his eyes again, blinking against Yavin’s bright morning sun. He looked over to the window, where a silhouette was outlined against the light: a long-haired figure sitting on a stool beside the window – Exar Kun.

As Ulic’s eyes adjusted to the light, he could make out the Dark Lord more clearly. He was perched on a stone seat next to the window, one leg drawn up, back turned to Ulic. He either hadn’t noticed Ulic waking up, or more likely he didn’t care much. He seemed to be busy brushing his hair.

It was strange to see him attend to such a mundane task; Ulic had wondered once or twice how much maintenance Exar’s hair might be, but he’d never seen him do much about it until now, apart from the occasional re-tying of his ponytail.

Ulic would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy watching it, though. Exar’s hair had always held a particular fascination for him, and Exar had mostly given up trying to keep Ulic’s hands out of it. In fact, Ulic was fairly certain Exar loved having his hair pulled, judging from the sounds he made when Ulic did, so it really wasn’t surprising that Exar had to untangle it in the morning.

Ulic propped himself up on one elbow, settling back against the pillows. The rustle seemed to startle Exar, or maybe he only now deigned to take notice of his Apprentice – he paused, hand frozen in his hair. After a moment he resumed, half turning his head towards Ulic.

“Look who’s awake. Slept well, I presume, Qel-Droma?”

The sarcasm in Exar’s voice was dripping, but somehow, the words lacked their usual bite, as if he could barely summon the energy to be spiteful. He sounded – tired.

Ulic made an indifferent sound.

“No worse than you, I imagine. Pretty short night, though.”

Exar huffed a breath through his nose that might have passed as a laugh.

“Indeed.”

Exar turned his back again, seemingly not very intent on doing anything about Ulic’s continued presence in his rooms. Ulic couldn’t fathom why; Exar had never seemed like the kind of person to let the previous night’s prize occupy his space for any longer than he deemed entertaining. He’d unceremoniously kicked Ulic out in the middle of the night on more than one occasion, actually, so why he was still allowed to stay – sauntering in his bed and watching him, no less – was a bit of a mystery to Ulic.

He wasn’t about to inquire, though. For the moment, he was content to simply watch Exar attend to his meticulous hair care routine. He was apparently done with brushing for the moment and had moved on to weaving a small strand into a braid.

Exar’s strong hands were surprisingly nimble, expertly slipping gold beads into the braid every few segments. From what Ulic could tell, he wasn’t even looking half the time, his gaze wandering out of the glassless window instead.

It was strangely fascinating to watch: Exar’s elegant hands moving with practiced purpose, repeating motions from muscle memory, his as-yet untamed hair flowing down his broad, scarred back in ebony streaks.

There lay a singular intimacy in Exar’s silent toleration of Ulic’s gaze, one that Ulic wasn’t quite sure what to make of.

Sitting like this, wrapped up in his familiar morning routine, barely clothed and attention Force-knew-where, Exar looked so young. With his usual exalted mannerisms, all arrogant quips and imposing elegance, billowing cloak making him seem larger than life, it was easy to forget that he was barely 26. Just a few years ago, he would have borne a Padawan braid just like every other Jedi his age – looking at the reigning Dark Lord of the Sith, the thought was absurd.

Looking at the young man by the window, however, the math added up better. For all the raw strength Exar possessed (the evidence of which was littering Ulic’s body, in fact), he seemed fragile; too pale and worn, bags under his eyes and fresh scars on his body. Whatever Dark Side alchemy he dabbled with seemed to take a toll on him.

And yet he never let it openly show; Ulic couldn’t think of any other time he’d seen Exar look so -- _human_ , for lack of a better word.

Exar was currently tying the loose ends of the thin braid. He’d been wearing it as part of his regular low ponytail ever since Ulic had met him, but Ulic was pretty sure the number and shape of the gold beads had changed over time. He’d always assumed it was a fashion statement and thought little more of it, but seeing the care Exar put into his hairdo made Ulic question that assessment. Did it have a personal meaning to him? A cultural one, perhaps?

Come to think of it, Ulic knew next to nothing about Exar. His name, age, and former master were as far as it went, and he wasn’t even sure where he’d picked up the age anymore.

His curiosity eventually got the better of him, and he decided to break the tentative silence; if staring was tolerated, then maybe a bit of prying might be as well.

“Why do you do that?”

This time, Exar didn’t pause.

“Do what?”

Ulic sat up a little further and gestured in Exar’s general direction.

“Your hair. The whole thing. Long hair is a nightmare to keep and a liability in battle, isn’t it? Cay used to let his hair grow out, and he had to give up after a year or two because it kept getting caught in everything. So why do you bother? Is it a cultural thing? Vanity?”

Exar didn’t respond immediately. He reached over the table for a different comb, but froze in the motion before the teeth reached his hair; half turning towards Ulic, he seemed to reconsider.

“You hail from Alderaan, don’t you? Have your travels ever taken you to Atrisia?”

“Atrisia? Not that I remember. First time I’m hearing the name, actually.”

Exar hummed.

“Ah yes, I keep forgetting. Your people call it Kitel Phard, I believe?”

“Oh, Kitel Phard. I haven’t been there, no, but at least that name is familiar. Isn’t that the place they invented Jar’Kai? I remember Master Arca mentioning it once or twice,” Ulic answered, drawing his legs up closer beneath the blanket. “Why do you ask?”

Exar resumed his routine, absently parting his hair with his fingers before brushing it. The comb he was using looked delicate, a finely made trinket of gold and obsidian; it was odd to think it belonged to someone as latently violent and ruthless as Exar.

“Atrisia is my home world. This is the traditional hairstyle of the first heir to the Empire’s throne, and I choose to honour that tradition.”

Ulic had a long and unfortunate history of speaking before thinking, and this instance was no different:

“Why would you honour their royal traditions, of all things? Was there nothing less ostentatious you could have gone with from your home planet?”

In response, Exar fully turned towards him and raised a single eyebrow.

 _Oh_.

“Wait. Are you telling me _you’re_ the legitimate heir to the Atrisian throne? Seriously?”

Exar’s eyebrow climbed higher still.

“Ever quick on the uptake, I see, Qel-Droma. Yes, indeed, you stand before the rightful heir to the Throne of Four Winds – but keep comfortable, there’s no need to kneel quite yet. Though I’m starting to think you quite enjoy that particular activity,” he added with a vicious smirk.

Ulic rolled his eyes.

“Right, as if you didn’t.”

Exar actually laughed at that, which surprised Ulic a little. It was a rare sound, clear and deep and, if Ulic was being honest, rather nice. He sometimes wished Exar would do it more often.

“No, that’s not it, actually. I am in Shaar-a-té. I suppose the closest translation is Exile without Fault, or Honoured Exile. My birth right has been denied to me through no fault of mine, and as such, I may wear the appropriate trappings and bear the title Exiled Heir, but have no claim to land or people until I have defeated the illegitimate ruler in a ceremonial duel.”

Exar furrowed his brow and stared past Ulic, muttering more to himself:

“Though at this point I’d settle for simply tearing that _tre-kaa_ ’s throat out, may my ancestors forgive me.” 

Ulic gave a puzzled look, but for once knew better than to push. He felt that it was better to let Exar tell this particular story at his own pace.

Exar seemed to notice Ulic’s silence. He cocked his head and gave Ulic a long, piercing look that was hard to decipher; his storm grey eyes betrayed little emotion, but Ulic felt like there was an unseen pain behind their perpetual rainclouds.

Whatever it was that Exar had been looking for, he was apparently satisfied with what he found, because he leaned back and continued to comb his hair.

Ulic almost thought he wouldn’t talk anymore, but then Exar spoke up again:

“I’m not informed on the current situation on Atrisia, at least, not as well as I’d like to be. Emperor Uueg Tching’s secessionist politics have nearly isolated my world from the rest of the Galaxy.”

Now Ulic did chime in.

“Yes, I did hear that there’d been a political upheaval when I was four or five years old. Apparently Atrisia’s been increasingly nationalistic and closed off since then. Master Arca always used to say that Master Draan was the last Jar’Kai black belt that the Academy had, and that she was spending most of her time on Ossus these days to record her art, so it wouldn’t be lost to the Jedi.”

Exar nodded.

“Master Draan is indeed the last Jar’Kai Ju’aan the Jedi have. The best one as well, if you ask me. She taught me much of what I know.”

Ulic inclined his head.

“So what does that have to do with anything?”

“A lot, young Jedi. For you see, around twenty-one years ago, a certain Uueg Tching decided that he was sick and tired of our world’s traditions and customs. He thought that the Royal Family had long since become blind to the needs of the common people, and so he decided that a revolution was in order. He was able to amass a cult following within Jar’Kai City remarkably quickly.”

Exar shifted to comb the other side of his hair.

“So with his militia of insurrectionists, he staged a coup on the Royal Family. They stormed the Palace of the Four Winds, killing everyone in sight. Servants, children, it mattered not. Anything clinging to the old ways had to go, in order to make way for the new. Until at last he came to the throne room, where he found Empress Noemmea and Emperor Oodhao, standing their ground and refusing to flee…”

Exar paused. His face was hidden by an onyx curtain of hair, but Ulic was sure he saw genuine anguish cross his features.

“…my parents.”

“…so what happened next? What did he do?”

“Well, what do you think he did?” Exar snapped, “he executed them on the spot. They refused to abandon their duties as rulers of Atrisia, and for that, they had to die.”

Exar paused, then breathed out a long, silent sigh.

“…but the one member of the Royal family he couldn’t find was their son. Unbeknownst to him, they had sent him away to receive training in the ways of the Jedi, less than a month earlier.”

Exar turned his gaze, staring out the window towards the distant jungle scape.

°To this day, I wonder if they knew what was coming and wanted to protect me, or if the ways of the Force are more cruel than what the Jedi tend to believe.”

Ulic huffed a dry, humourless laugh.

“Let me guess, your masters told you the usual? _Do not grieve, for they are one with the living Force now_ , and the likes, and then they expected that to be the end of it? Maybe they told you the story of how Master whoever lost a family member at some point during their life and became stronger because of it, _change is the catalyst for greatness, you should meditate on it_ , and any further mention of the matter was universally frowned upon? Yeah, tell me about it.”

Ulic’s colourful description of Jedi mourning practice earned him another laugh from Exar, and the Dark Lord turned around to face him again, expression curious and oddly sympathetic.

“Who was it?”

Exar didn’t need to specify. Ulic gave a sad half-smile.

“My father. Apparently he didn’t return from an expedition one day. They didn’t even tell me right away that he was missing, either – _no_ , they only deigned to send word to Arkania once they found his shredded corpse in a Wampa cave on Ilum.”

Ulic ran a hand through his hair, the memory still upsetting.

“If they’d just told me _earlier_ – I might have – I know it wouldn’t have changed a thing, but who in their right mind does a thing like that? Not tell a fourteen year old that his father is missing? At which point did the Jedi decide that grief had no place in their teachings?”

Ulic’s fist grabbing the sheets was white-knuckled with the strain of it; he hadn’t even realized he’d been clenching it.

“You know, when I left for Cinnagar, everyone was trying to talk me out of it. Nomi, Cay, even your old Master Vodo, they all said I was confused. That Master Arca’s death shouldn’t affect me that much, that rage was clouding my mind and that I needed to let go of the hate.

“Truth is, I hadn’t really expected much else from them. Not a single word of consolation, no sympathy, none of their prided compassion. Even Nomi. She basically told me to get over it, and she was the very last person I’d ever thought would talk like that.”

Addressing Exar’s questioning look, Ulic added:

“Apparently her husband was murdered by some Hutt thugs in front of her and her daughter. It was the starting point for her life as a Jedi, sure, but how was she so _unaffected_? Barely a year after her husband of eight years gets killed right in front of her for nothing, and she’s flirting up a guy she barely knows – in this case me.”

Ulic closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the cold stone headboard in defeat.

“I just don’t get it – for an order so focused on compassion, Jedi expect you to immediately discard any personal connections at their convenience. I think even Aleema cared more about my feelings than the Jedi Masters, and that’s honestly saying a lot.”

Exar chuckled, heavy with irony.

“Yes, the Jedi certainly have a very…unique, shall we say, way of dealing with death and grief in their ranks. For my part, I learned of the coup on Atrisia through the HoloNet. I had felt a disturbance in the Force and knew in my heart that they were dead, but I would have appreciated a waring nonetheless.”

He laid the ornate comb back on the table, letting his hand rest over it for a moment.

“You don’t let a child watch his home burn down on the news, regardless of what lessons you want to teach about attachment and loss.”

Ulic tilted his head in silent understanding.

“What of your mother, then?” asked Exar. “Master Lien-Tsai Qel-Droma of Alderaan?”

Ulic was mildly surprised that Exar had gone to the effort of remembering his mother’s name; then again, his family was moderately known in the Order after all. He shrugged.

“Honestly, I don’t know. Last I heard, she was alive and well, teaching in the Enclave on Alderaan. I haven’t seen her since the war on Onderon, actually.”

A little more quietly, he added:

“I wonder what she feels when she tunes into the HoloNet. Can’t imagine it’s pleasant when your son is on trial before the Senate for major war crimes. Especially not when he refuses to go with his brother and instead absconds with the guy who just murdered the Chancellor.”

Exar smirked.

“You never know, maybe she’s proud at least one of her sons had the mind to join the winning team for once”.

Ulic was about to say something to that, but Exar’s smirk widened into that winning grin he wore so well, and Ulic decided to drop it. He was finding it strangely hard to argue with Exar these days.

“Besides, you’re forgetting that I also defeated and killed Master Vodo that day. That was fairly impressive too, I daresay.”

Ulic laughed, a little incredulous.

“You really didn’t like the guy, did you?”

“I did, actually. He was decently nice, and he could have been a great ally. But in the end, he would have been too much of a hassle to keep alive,” Exar answered, nonchalant as always.

Ulic shook his head in mock disbelief.

“Do you ever do anything casually?”

In response, Exar simply chuckled, the sound a little distorted as he tipped his head forward to straighten his hair out, finished with combing.

Ulic had only seen him do that a few times, usually if his hair tie had come loose after a particularly rough sparring session (and one memorable time after Ulic had been daring enough to sneak a hand into his hair during a make-out; it had ended with a bleeding lip on Ulic’s side, though interestingly enough it had taken Exar a good two minutes of softly gasping between heated kisses to realize that Ulic pulling at his hair would probably mess up his ponytail).

It was rather impressive, actually; Exar’s hair nearly reached his waist and formed a formidable black halo when he threw his head back like this. Straightening again, the Dark Lord deftly gathered his hair in one hand and reached for a leather tie with the other. He carefully tucked the beaded braid into position before securing his ponytail, motions practiced and smooth, likely repeated a thousand times over.

Ulic had yet to openly admit to himself the fascination he had with Exar’s hair, but he had a hunch that it was a symptom of a bigger issue more than anything – namely, a fascination with Exar in general. Truly, the man was nothing if not fascinating, in every connotation of the word. There was a burning, focused intensity in everything he did – from warfare to his hairdo. Ulic had only been half joking when he’d asked Exar if he ever did things casually; he suspected that the truthful answer was no.

And lately, Ulic had found himself growing more and more used to, but no less intrigued by Exar’s nature. As the animosity dwindled to a grudging alliance, it had eventually settled into an odd familiarity – they were in this together, after all, whether they liked it or not. The sexual tension in the mix hadn’t helped matters, and somehow, they’d ended here, with Ulic sitting in bed watching Exar do his hair, commiserating about shared Jedi childhood trauma.

“Well, Ulic, do you intend to stay there all day? It’s all the same to me, frankly. It’s not like your strategical input will be missed much.”

Spoken with a strangely soft smile while rummaging for his earrings, Exar’s quip lacked teeth. Still, Ulic did see the necessity in getting up, though he did so only reluctantly. Staying in bed was a rare commodity for a Dark Lord and his apprentice - he’d learned that the hard way.

“Admit it, you just don’t like me stealing your thunder at the _Corsair’s_ helm.”

Exar turned to Ulic, eyebrows raised.

“Oh please, the day _you_ steal _my_ thunder is the day they bury me on Korriban. Though even my tomb would probably be more impressive than yours, I guess – I _am_ still the Master.”

Ulic laughed quietly, and as he headed for the shower, he silently wondered when they’d gone from wanting to rip each other’s heart out to something strangely resembling friendly banter.

Exar’s private rooms in his main temple may have lacked a traditional ‘fresher, courtesy of the local pre-industrialization culture, but at least they featured a water shower. Yavin 4’s had daily tropical rainstorms, and apparently the Massassi had become very adept at taking full advantage of this resource – the slanted temple walls acted as natural water collectors, or at least that’s what Exar had told him.

Regardless, Ulic was rather thankful for their ingenuity as he felt his sore muscles loosen under the steady warm flow; ultrasonic showers really couldn’t compare, regardless of how much more efficient they might be.

When he walked back into the bedroom, towel around his hips and hair still a little wet, Exar was fully dressed (pity, Ulic thought) and inspecting a holopad. He raised his head when he heard Ulic coming in.

Despite this being anything but the first time Ulic had been before Exar in any state of undress, Ulic couldn’t help but feel somewhat vulnerable. If Exar spontaneously decided he wanted him dead after all, there wasn’t much Ulic could have done about it – he wasn’t even sure where he’d put his lightsaber last night. He’d been a little too preoccupied all but tearing Exar’s robes off.

Exar looked him over once, then his mouth curled in a half-smile.

“Are you quite sure you don’t want to try on some more traditional garments sometime? It would suit you.”

Ulic scoffed.

“If by _traditional_ you’re referring to the ‘loincloth, jewellery and nothing else’ aesthetic the ancient Sith were so fond of, then no thanks, I think I’ll pass.”

“Hmm. Pity,” Exar answered, turning back to his holopad.

Ulic started the quest to gather his clothing from Force knows where he’d tossed it in the night.

“If that’s your convoluted way of telling me you think I’m attractive, then thanks, I guess?”

Exar made a noncommitting noise, but kept the lopsided smirk on his face.

Ulic finished getting dressed and began to search for his lightsaber; as he scanned the room, his gaze settled on Exar. He was half sitting on the table, studying the pad in intense concentration, hand on his chin as he read. His ponytail spilled over his shoulder, and despite his best efforts, a few errant strands had already come loose over his forehead – nothing could prevent that, it seemed.

Exar absentmindedly brushed them out of his face and behind his ear, and it occurred to Ulic that he’d seen Exar repeat that motion dozens of times – he’d become familiar enough with him that he knew of little things like that.

A strange feeling overcame Ulic. Without even knowing exactly why, he strode over, following an innate urge he couldn’t quite place.

“Exar.”

“Hm?”

Ulic reached out, slowly enough that Exar could stop him if he wanted to, and put his hand to Exar’s face. But Exar didn’t stop him; he put the holopad down and half turned, meeting Ulic’s gaze. His expression was hard to interpret.

Ulic lightly dragged his thumb over the ragged claw scars on Exar’s cheek, eliciting the lightest of shudders – then he leaned forward for a kiss.

Exar let it happen; he stayed still, not really reciprocating, but he didn’t push Ulic away, either.

Ulic kissed him again, a little deeper, and this time, Ulic could almost _feel_ the tension leaving Exar. The Dark Lord breathed a quiet sigh through his nose and leaned in, relaxing into the kiss.

Exar covered Ulic’s hand on his face with his own, leaning into the touch as he allowed Ulic’s tongue to dart past his lips.

This felt so _different_ from what they’d had before – so much softer, slower, more careful.

There was no battle-borne rush of adrenaline involved, no heated argument or sparring session, no frantic rush in the name of breathless need; none of the usual things that were oh so easy to blame afterwards, neatly put away with no emotions attached. No, this was – the two of them. Nothing more, nothing less.

The realization of it frightened Ulic, deep down. He was falling for Exar Kun as he had fallen to the Dark Side – slowly, steadily, almost unnoticeable until it was too late – or had he fallen already? It was so hard to say, with Exar’s hand on the back of his neck and his tongue tracing his lower lip.

After immeasurably long moments (minutes? Seconds? He couldn’t tell), Ulic pulled away, breath coming harder with need for oxygen. He found himself looking into Exar’s eyes, their muted colour darkened, as they often were when he was agitated or emotional; likely a by-product of prolonged use of the Dark Side, but Ulic couldn’t tell for sure. Maybe he was the only one who saw it. He certainly was the only one to see it and survive.

It was so easy to utterly lose himself in those deep eyes; Ulic had to look away to break the spell. He stepped back, out of Exar’s space. Neither of them spoke, but Ulic could tell that Exar had sensed it as well – the energy between them felt changed. Perhaps the bond between them wasn’t solely to blame on Marka Ragnos, after all.

“So…what’s on the agenda for today? I heard that Aleema’s death wasn’t taken too well by the remaining Krath loyalists in Cinnagar. We might have to do something about that.”

Ulic’s voice seemed to break the veil; the moment had passed. Exar picked up the holopad again.

“Yes, I was just reading up on the reports sent in from Koros Major. A minor annoyance, really, but I think showing some personal presence in Cinnagar might be well advised. They need a reminder of who their true leaders are.”

Ulic reached for his pauldrons.

“Leaders? Plural?”

Exar nodded, continuing to scroll down the reports as he answered.

“Yes, plural. If we want to subdue these rebel factions once and for all, we have need of a unified strategy. A strong leadership is essential in any war, and your reckless solo run on Coruscant has spread rumours about power struggle within our ranks. A public appearance as Master and Apprentice would help restore trust in our cause, don’t you think?”

Ulic raised an eyebrow, but he wasn’t trying too hard to hide the smile that followed.

“Good to know you at least think I’m useful for your public relations strategy. When do we start?”

In response, Exar handed Ulic his lightsaber – when had he got that? – and grinned.

“Well, Ulic, I don’t think the rebels are likely to wait for us. We’re taking Starstorm One and a small Massassi strike force. Come along!”

And with that, he was out the door and headed down the staircase, cloak swaying behind him with usual drama.

Ulic hesitated for a moment. He knew they were both trying to pretend away their feelings, hiding genuine emotion behind anything from light-hearted banter to violent fights, and he wasn’t sure how much longer they could keep this up before the tension inevitably snapped.

For the moment, however – for the moment, this was good.

He took a deep breath, and followed Exar Kun.

**Author's Note:**

> ...you're still here? wow i love you<3 these two are just near and dear to my heart, even if only like three other people in the world care. if you're in the Exar/Ulic crew (or even just the TotJ crew in general!), feel free to comment just so i know i'm not writing this entirely for me, lol. i feel like i pushed my preferred writing style of no speaker announcements to the absolute limits here, it doesn't lend itself very well to action-devoid scenes. feels a little stiff/forced on occasion i guess?  
> if you find any mistakes, do tell! love yall~


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